Newspapers and the Uses Thereof
by Neocolai
Summary: Erik takes up the role of father. Peter is not happy. (11th in the Protection Series)


**Disclaimer: Neocolai does not own X-Men or anything related to the franchise. Y'all know that by now.**

* * *

"Give it back!"

"No! The professor said we have responsibility now. _You_ are dishonoring that!"

"That's no reason to steal my stuff! Now give it!"

It wasn't the clattering thuds or the smash of teacups that dragged Erik away from the morning newspaper (although he supposed the china _did_ belong to Charles' mother). It wasn't Peter's frustrated whining, either. (In fact, he almost considered molding a trophy for Kurt, for being the first among Charles' students to outwit the speedster.)

No, it was Hank who hauled Erik out of his study and shoved him down the steps with the frazzled command of, "Deal with him!"

So he was officially a father now. Doubtless the whole school was mocking _Magneto,_ magnet to erroneous children. Whapping the newspaper against his palm, Erik stalked into the room and barked, "Peter!"

Papers scattered and the bookshelf rattled as Kurt flashed across the room, clutching something that looked suspiciously like a Walkman. "Stop him!" he pleaded, pointing shakily before he was slammed across the room.

"Give it here now!" Peter materialized long enough to shout.

"Peter!"

The silver mutant shuddered to a halt, fist thrumming before Kurt's nose. "It's his fault!"

"You were thieving!" Kurt hissed, clutching the Walkman to his chest. "Mystique says that is wrong!"

"What, like she's your mom or something? It's only wrong if you get caught. Now give it back, Creep!"

"No! It is penance for your crimes!"

"I'll show you penance, you little – "

 _"Peter!"_ Erik reacted on impulse and the speedster jumped when the morning paper smacked down on a perfectly upraised target. Silver gusted and fizzled into gaping, disbelieving brown eyes. A little abashed at himself, but nonetheless pleased that there was finally order, Erik pointed the newspaper at his son. "You. Go to your room."

He expected a panicked flurry and sober penitence. Instead there was _the_ _look;_ the same obstinacy he had glimpsed in Nina when she first learned the word _no_.

He hadn't tolerated rebellion in his daughter, either.

"Kurt," Erik commanded darkly, "Vanish."

The blue kid was smart. Peter, on the other hand, merely backed up a step and braced himself, brandy eyes glowing with mischief, waiting for Erik to reach across the very last centimeter before he flew.

 _"Charles,"_ Erik thought calmly. _"Stop him."_

Peter twitched and then gasped, clenching his teeth when his limbs refused the order. "This isn't fair!" he squeaked as Erik firmly gripped his arm.

One. Two. Three.

It was humiliation in purpose; punishment with a newspaper was hardly memorable, but the purpose was indubitable. Backtalk was _not_ permitted.

"Ow!" Peter protested, lunging away as soon as he was released. (A completely unnecessary reaction – the dog could have been swatted and still thought this was a game.) "Why'd you – I can't believe – You can't just – Why'd you have to bring the professor into it, anyways?"

Injustice fumed in his eyes even as he flushed, no doubt recognizing a childish punishment for similar behavior.

"Takes a village," Erik said unrepentantly. He waved the newspaper in front of Peter's nose and pointed upstairs. "Grounded. We'll discuss this later."

A moment of hesitation, and finally the kid obeyed.

Charles laughed. Erik chuckled in turn, tossing the newspaper across the room.

 _"You realize he's never going to live this down,"_ Charles said. " _I'm never going to let you forget it, either."_

Erik shrugged. _"Let him sulk for a while. He'll be more manageable after a few hours to himself."_

Imagined confrontation was infinitely worse than the real lecture.

His mind drifted to similar punishments when he was young… So very young…. When his only fear in life was the wooden paddle, and often enough his mother sent him off with only a light smack on the cheek. He'd nearly forgotten those years.

 _"You will speak to him soon, I trust,"_ Charles suggested. _"I don't think he'll rest well tonight if he's left to his own thoughts."_

That was exactly how grounding worked. _"Sure,"_ Erik said nonchalantly. " _I'll talk to him."_

In a few hours. After he heard Kurt's side of the story, imported an extortionately pricey replacement for Charles' teacups, discussed teen management with Raven, played fetch with the dog, and finished reading his morning article. Ten minutes before evening curfew should be time enough.

Maybe, if the speedster behaved until then, Erik would bring down his missed dinner.

And if the kid was truly repentant, he might even consider dessert.


End file.
